In a Position to Persevere
by calenlily
Summary: Fill-in-the-blanks fic for the month or so leading up to the Hatching of Ramoth's first clutch. Because Dragonflight has some fairly major time-skips, this one being at a rather crucial relationship development point. F'lar/Lessa, obviously.
1. Prologue: Resolution

_Disclaimer:_ Pern belongs to Anne McCaffrey. I am not Anne McCaffrey. Therefore... I think you can do the math. Also, some lines in this chapter are taken directly from _Dragonflight_ (page 185 in my copy).  
_A/N_: This prologue is extremely short, more of a teaser than a real chapter, and I apologize profusely. It didn't really fit in with other scenes, though, so... The rest of the chapters will be normal length (1000plus words), I promise. And hopefully the next chapter will be up really soon. I'm also hoping to get the first section of Dragonquest in Half an Hour done soon. (Now that my plot bunnies have returned to me after a dry spell, they're absolutely overwhelming me. I have ideas for a continuation of Shards! - no, I haven't forgotten about it - and a few more stories as well.)  
This story is meant to be as canon as possible, my intention was to have it work as if it could be inserted into _Dragonflight_ as extra scenes. So please, if you notice anything off, review and tell me.  
This is probably my favorite of my DRoP fic that I've started so far. There's a terrible shortage of good fics centered on the canon characters, and I hope to remedy some of that. It's also been giving me the most trouble of possibly any fanfic I've worked on. I've never done so much rewriting before - I'm finding the characters frustratingly had to write. But I think it's worth it. Please, read, review, tell me what you think.  
Virtual cookies to anyone who can find the quote in Dragonflight that the title of this fic comes from.  
_Dedication:_ To the plot bunnies. Because as much as I complain about how they're always stealing my attention and forcing me to do their bidding, I'm in a right sorry state when they abandon me (as happened for about the first half of this month), and I'm so glad they're back.

**

* * *

Prologue: Resolutions  
**

"Just as I predicted, a queen egg, by the mother of us all," F'lar's voice said in Lessa's ear. "And I wager there'll be ten bronzes at least."

Lessa looked proudly at Ramoth, with her clutch of ten eggs already – the best omen they'd had so far – then back at the Weyrleader. For once she was completely in accord with him.

"F'lar, I do believe you," she declared. For all that she'd been frustrated this morning, she truly did believe, and now more than ever. Impulsively she laid a hand on his arm – perhaps the first time she'd touched him voluntarily.

"Only now?" F'lar teased her.

She had an impulse to respond acidly to that comment, but she knew it was meant in good humor, so she kept her peace. In fact, below the surface she was thinking hard.

'Believe with me until spring,' he'd asked. And she'd agreed readily enough. She'd never actually had cause to doubt his word. In fact, based on his infuriating tendency to be right all the time, she'd always backed him in council, for all that they argued constantly outside.

And now she wondered, if she trusted his beliefs, why couldn't she trust the man? Certainly he was often rather arrogant and condescending, but, to be brutally honest, she hadn't exactly been the easiest person to get along with either. Maybe she ought to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Until spring, perhaps. She would believe in him until spring.

So resolved, she smiled back at him.


	2. Chapter One: Two Steps Forward, One Step

_Disclaimer:_ DRoP belongs to Anne McCaffery, and I am only making my own humble attempt to fill in some more of her incredible 'verse._  
A/N: _What can I say? I love this story, this story drives me crazy, I'm afraid things are progressing too slowly, I'm afraid they're going too fast, I've done extensive rewriting, but I'm still afraid it's lacking. ...If you couldn't tell, I'm a very "broody" author. Please to be reviewing and tell me what works and what doesn't. Enjoy the chapter!

**

* * *

Chapter One: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back**

_"If F'lar's orders over the next month caused no end of discussion and muttering among the weyrfolk, they seemed to Lessa to be the only logical outcomes of their discussion after Ramoth had finished laying her gratifying total of forty-one eggs."_ - _Dragonflight_, p186

"Forty-one." F'lar whistled appreciatively. "What did I tell you?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead and rub it in. You're right, _as usual_," Lessa grumbled, but the complaint was clearly half-hearted and possibly even teasing. Thankfully, her pride in Ramoth seemed to be putting her in a good enough mood to be more pleasant with the bronze rider. In three days, the queen had completed her prodigious clutch, prompting this discussion between Benden's Weyrleaders.

"There aren't enough boys in the Lower Caverns," Lessa pointed out.

"Gives us all the more justification for Search," F'lar replied evenly. "Less reason for people to complain."

"Doesn't mean they won't," Lessa said bitterly.

F'lar thought of the inevitable protest in Council, but shrugged it off. Let them protest. They didn't get to decide. He replied, "That's their problem. Not our fault if people are too hidebound to see sense."

He paused, then added, "We've already Searched a few dozen boys, but with this many eggs we still need more, to give the dragonets a decent choice. I'd like more older candidates as well. Preadolescents are fine in an Interval, but with Thread coming so soon, we need new riders ready as soon as possible. Dragons mature faster than boys."

She nodded. "Planning on setting any more precedents on their heads?" Lessa asked sweetly.

Deliberately ignoring the challenging undertone of her question, he replied pleasantly, "Yes, actually. There are so many unnecessary casualties at Impression, and I think it's mostly because the candidates are terrified. I want them to be familiar with the eggs before the Hatching."

She sighed, and for a moment he worried she might object. But she just nodded and said, "I have a feeling Ramoth isn't going to be too fond of that notion. I'll see what I can do."

"That's all I ask," he acknowledged. Pressing further would not help anything, and anyway he was confident in her ability to prevail upon her queen.

"Kylara too," he added.

Lessa grimaced. "Only on one condition."

"Yes?" F'lar asked, with a complete unaffected calm that he could tell irritated her all the more. She had bristled at the very mention of the sensuous blonde, a noteworthy reaction.

"If she Impresses, we send her away from Benden," she demanded.

He laughed at the vehemence of her tone, amused by her extreme antipathy towards Kylara. "Done. We'll set her up at Fort Weyr or somewhere."

She nodded. Unsurprisingly, she did not look pleased with the prospect of spending time with the other woman on the Hatching Sands, but he suspected she'd be willing to do just about anything to see the blonde out of her domain.

"Next Council should be interesting," Lessa muttered.

"That it will," F'lar agreed. "But for all that conservatives may balk, it's time for outdated traditions to be replaced."

She muttered under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like "it's past time." He couldn't really argue with that – in fact, he was inclined to agree – but the way she said it suggested she faulted him for that. Certainly it was only recently that he'd started implementing the changes he'd long considered, but that was only for lack of the ability to do so until now.

Then, however, she softened visibly, and commented charitably, "For what it's worth, I think they're good ideas."

The typically stern bronze rider smiled, pleased that she finally seemed to be warming to him. "It's worth quite a bit."

But the pleasant moment disappeared, so swiftly that he almost thought he'd imagined it. She closed herself up again, asking in her all-business manner, "Is that all, then? Because I'd like to get back to Ramoth."

He curtly nodded his assent, and she turned on her heel and walked briskly away.

For his part, F'lar stood there a long moment, watching her retreating form. And he wondered, as he had many times before, if he would ever get through to her.

* * *

"That went well," Lessa commented with her typical asperity.

F'lar glanced at the door of the Council chamber, where the other bronze riders and their wingseconds had just exited, most of them in a huff. He shrugged. "As well as could be expected. They'll be tetchy for a while, but nothing will come of it. Thank you for your support, by the way."

She shrugged, brushing it off. "You're right; it's time to stop being so hidebound."

"And that's always stopped you from challenging me before?" he said sarcastically, smirking.

She glared at his teasing, but ended up laughing in spite of herself. "Touché."

"So, care to tell me what prompted this change of heart?"

She regarded him blandly. How like him, she thought with annoyance. He just has to press his luck, doesn't he?

"No, I suppose not," he commented quietly, as if speaking more to himself than her. He sounded almost amused by the observation, which only frustrated her more.

But yet – for some reason she didn't quite understand herself and wasn't sure she cared to examine too closely – she _didn't_ want to leave it there. "Well, I…" she began, but then faltered, thinking otherwise of it, still not comfortable sharing her confidences. "Never mind."

F'lar jumped on it, as she should have known he would. "Never mind?" He drew out the words challengingly. "Oh? No, you what?"

She wavered, and finally said, "I thought it was past time for change, and it makes sense to work together if we want to accomplish anything." Hopefully that answer would satisfy him.

He nodded, but did not look entirely convinced, and she had a feeling he didn't buy her hasty explanation. Mentally she chastised herself for her obvious floundering and the folly of nearly revealing all she felt. She couldn't just expose herself like that. She couldn't afford to be so vulnerable.

Still, she couldn't keep a little part of her mind from asking, would it really be so bad, to let her guard down just a little? She hissed in frustration.

He looked at her curiously, which only served to frustrate her more. There was a strange, almost soft look in his amber eyes. But she didn't waste time trying to interpret it. Rather, she felt she'd had about as much of this conversation as she could deal with. She made her excuses, and retreated perhaps more hurriedly than was convincing for the unaffected frame of mind she tried to project.


	3. Chapter Two: Confession

_A/N_: The next chapter is _finally_ here. Sorry about the long wait. On the plus side, there's more plot in this one. I think. Many thanks to my beta, moviemom44.  
_Disclaimer_: If Dragonriders of Pern was mine, the characters wouldn't be so stubborn about letting me write them. ...Actually, I don't know that. Point is, I don't own any of this.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Confession**

It had been a long day. For that matter, all the days seemed to be long recently, but this had been a particularly frustrating one. F'lar had had a good theory about getting the Candidates used to the eggs before Hatching, but he wasn't the one who had to calm a broody queen. Lessa still thought the idea had merit, but it was rather more troublesome in practice, and if Ramoth continued to be this touchy about it Lessa had half a mind to call the whole thing off for upsetting her dragon too much.

So it was that Lessa returned to her weyr late and exhausted. She called down the service shaft for hot klah. As she passed the Records room she noticed F'lar was still within, seated in front of a multitude of old Record hides and a few oversized new skins that he was making numerous notations on. He would probably appreciate the refreshment, too, she decided, so instead of going directly to her weyr, she headed in his direction.

She cast a critical eye over the stacks of Records that surrounded him. "It's a wonder there's anything left in here under all these hides. Is it just me, or are there more every day? I'd almost swear they're breeding," she commented with distaste.

He chuckled. "No, I had F'nor bring in another set, from Igen."

"What are you working on?" she inquired curiously.

"Maps," he replied vaguely.

She huffed. She could see _that_! And what did maps have to do with all the notations he was making from the old Records?

Ah well, frustrating it may be, but it wasn't like F'lar being inscrutable was anything _new_ to her.

F'lar looked up at her. "Long day?" he asked sardonically.

"Yes," she admitted. "The Candidates are half-excited and half-terrified and seem on the verge of falling all over themselves at any given moment, and Ramoth is … touchy, not exactly helping matters." To be perfectly honest, that was a generous description. Between trying to make sure the boys didn't do something stupid that would upset Ramoth, keeping Ramoth from getting upset over every little thing the boys did, keeping herself from throttling Kylara for every little thing _she_ did, and trying not to let on to Ramoth that she wanted to throttle Kylara because it was hard enough getting the queen to agree to let anyone near her precious golden egg … it was exhausting.

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "like rider, like dragon." She shot him an icy look.

He had the grace to look slightly apologetic, at least. Perhaps the comment was meant as a tease. Still, her pride was hurt, and she bristled slightly. Never mind that she didn't exactly bother to leash her tongue around him either; to her estimation, that was beside the point.

She was trying to give him a chance, she really was. But, for the love of little dragons, sometimes he made it awfully hard.

So why bother? the traitorous little voice in the back of her mind asked. Why did she care so much? The fact was that she _wanted_ to, for reasons she didn't want to think about too much. Frustrated with herself, she shoved that whole line of thought to the back of her mind.

She was about ready to up and leave, but she hadn't gotten so far as the edge of the chamber when she heard the service shaft rumbling, signaling the arrival of the hot klah she'd nearly forgotten she called for. So, instead, she retrieved it and returned.

A lock of her long dark hair, having escaped from its braid, fell across her face to obscure her vision most annoyingly. Her hands full of the tray with the pitcher and two mugs of klah, she could do nothing about it. She shook her head in a violent but ineffectual motion.

As she bent to set down the tray, F'lar reached over and pushed the errant strands out of her eyes, securing them behind her ear with unexpected gentleness.

An equally unexpected shock of emotion coursed through her, sending her into mental turmoil. Shard it, how could such a little thing affect her so much? She almost preferred his cutting remarks – at least they didn't leave her so confused.

A sharp comment came to her lips in defensive reflex, but she bit it back at the last moment; there was no call for that. Besides, why should she let on to him how unsettled she felt? With effort, she managed a slight smile, then sipped her klah, using that as an excuse to turn away.

F'lar's voice cut into her tumultuous thoughts. "So, are you ever going to tell me the _real_ reason you've decided to help me out for once?" he asked pleasantly.

Caught off guard, she replied without thinking, "I thought it was about time I gave you a chance. You've been right often enough that I've been persuaded to believe in your ideas, so it occurred to me I ought to try to believe in you."

She realized what she was saying a moment too late, horrified, and panicked. This time she didn't even manage some semblance of a graceful or casual exit. She flat-out bolted, leaving her half-full mug of klah and a slightly bewildered Weyrleader behind.

* * *

It had been a long shot. He hadn't actually expected her to answer – so much as he ever knew what to expect from Lessa. Sure, his intention had been to catch her off guard, but he'd been all but convinced that she didn't even have an "off guard."

Well, her response just now certainly proved otherwise. It was so much more than he'd expected, though still less than he'd hoped. Would she never stop being so skittish? Every time he thought he was getting somewhere, he could almost see the barriers slam up behind her eyes, as if she were taking cover from an enemy. For a moment, he flashed back to when he'd first found her. She'd been hiding, not only from the Search, but from everything and everyone. How long had that been going on? Had she ever had anyone she could trust? Something in F'lar's chest tightened at the thought of her being so alone and he found himself wishing she could see it didn't have to be like that …that she would open up to him.

But she kept shying away, and whenever he thought he had her figured out, she would do something else to startle him. F'lar accounted himself good at reading people, but Lessa was a closed book to him – and to the world, for that matter, but that was no consolation. He was good at working out challenges, but he already had his hands full trying to prepare a Weyr and a world for a Pass half of them still refused to believe was going to happen; he had precious little time left over to deal with a frustratingly unpredictable girl.

Patience, F'lar reminded himself. He could be patient; he'd waited this long to come into his own, hadn't he? Lessa's confession today was a major mark in his favor. Surely it wouldn't be long now before she turned to him.

With that thought in his mind, he returned to his attempts to unlock the vital information embedded in the old Records. They were considerably less of a mystery.

* * *

What was she doing? Lessa wondered, mentally reeling. How had she let her mouth run ahead of her so very much? How had her defensive walls gotten so dangerously low in the first place? She'd _never_ intended to reveal that much.

Lessa was used to being in complete control, of herself if nothing else. She was untouchable – or at least, she was supposed to be. It was a long-held defense mechanism, and one she was not at all comfortable without. To have let slip so much made her feel horribly vulnerable.

And if she had to slip up, why did it have to be with _him_?

Admittedly she found F'lar more bearable than most others around – though that actually said more about how badly she got on with most people than anything else; to express it so verged on damnation by faint praise – but he had an uncanny tendency to catch her at her weakest moments and an ability to get under her skin like no one else, so it still felt like putting her confidences in the hands of an enemy.

Unconsciously she found herself heading towards the Hatching Grounds, seeking out the comfort of her dragon's company. As the nervous energy that had sustained her ran out, she skidded to a stop and sank down into the hot sands. Sharding wherry-headed fool! Lessa berated herself, still too emotional to think more constructively than in furious remonstrance.

_You are not a fool_, Ramoth said firmly, nudging her rider with her great golden head.

Lessa laughed mirthlessly. _Oh, but I am. To let myself get so close to another, to let myself trust…_

_What's wrong with that?_ Ramoth asked, uncomprehending.

Lessa sighed. _If you let people too close to you, they can hurt you._

_No one is going to hurt you,_ Ramoth declared. _I won't let them._

She smiled despite herself at that vehement statement. Life was so simple to dragons. She envied that clarity. Lessa knew there were far more ways to hurt than physically – she had plenty of experience with them – but she allowed herself to be comforted by Ramoth's matter-of-fact reassurance. _I know you won't, dear heart,_ she replied affectionately.

Calmer now, grounded by Ramoth's comforting words, she could attempt to think things out rationally.

More than anything else, she was alarmed that she had grown so complacent as to drop her guard, even for a moment. She could deal with however F'lar reacted to her revelation, but the weakness in herself was disturbing. Ten long Turns of peril and disguise had taught her the necessity of protecting herself by keeping everyone at arms' length – but somehow he tempted her to ignore those cautions. And that, to Lessa's reckoning, was dangerous. She felt as if she couldn't trust herself. She would have to be more careful from now on, to stay away from him if that was what it took.

Because if she could no longer trust herself, what did she have left to rely on? Because he set her off balance. Because….

Because – finally she was forced to recognize what she had been trying to deny for so long – she was falling in love with him.

Which only made matters so much worse.


	4. Chapter Three: Progress?

_Disclaime__r_: DRoP is Anne McCaffrey's; I just play here.  
_A/N_: And here I thought this chapter would be really quick to write! It seems I'm just getting slower and slower. Shame on me. *Hangs head* Writer's block and an insane schedule do not a good combination make. Anyway, here it finally is. Thanks as always to my beta, moviemom44. Please to be reviewing!

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**Chapter Three: Progress?**

_"F'lar was seized by an irresistible desire to comfort her. It struck him forcibly, even as he was stirred by this unusual compassion, that he had never thought that Lessa, of all people, would be troubled by so old a terror." - Dragonflight_, p158

She had a new strategy, it seemed. She was avoiding him, flat out avoiding him. She was civil enough when they did meet, which F'lar had to admit was a great improvement over the open hostility that she'd shown him in the past. But, ever since her confession, although she continued to support him in Council, she had gone out of her way to avoid him as much as possible. At first, he hadn't thought much about it, but now her excuses were growing progressively flimsier. It seemed she always had an 'elsewhere' to be, but details never seemed to be forthcoming. Not that he'd had much chance to press the issue. Prepared as he had been for the job, he hadn't truly realized how much time and work it took to run a Weyr. What with the daily particulars and the side project of creating the timetables in hopes of predicting the cycle of Threadfall, he had neither the time nor the opportunity to go chasing after one moody queen rider.

She frustrated him more than he cared to admit. Why in Faranth's name did she have to be so elusive? Sharding woman!

_She protects herself_, Mnementh put in unexpectedly. _She is not used to being able to trust._

F'lar blinked at the perceptive comment. The bronze was full of unsolicited advice these days – not a typical draconic characteristic. _Why does it matter to you?_ he couldn't resist asking.

_Because Lessa matters to you_, Mnementh replied, in a tone that suggested that ought to be obvious. Perhaps it should have been. _Don't push her too hard; you'll only make her run._

F'lar scowled at that final word of caution. It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but he supposed Mnementh had it right. It made sense; dragons were known for being eminently practical. So, too, it wasn't the dragon's feelings that went every which way when she was in the room. Best to let the cooler head prevail – but that didn't mean he had to like it. He resigned himself to waiting.

* * *

"Lessa. _Lessa!_"

A vague awareness of being shaken filtered through into her dream-state, and then she abruptly snapped back to consciousness. Realizing that she had been thrashing about, she stilled, but could not keep from shivering convulsively as the threatening feeling of the nightmare followed her into waking, leaving her unsettled and disturbed.

She tried to push the memory to the back of her mind, to distance herself from that sick feeling that inevitably accompanied night terrors. Automatically her mind latched onto the first subject at hand, and so her attention turned to the hard grip that still held her fast. Irritably she pushed at F'lar's hands.

Having trained herself over long desperate Turns not to show vulnerability, she masked her fear with defiance. She glared at him. Amber eyes bored into hers. "Let me go!" she hissed.

She meant to bolt, and would have, if he had not actually released her as she asked. His unexpected compliance and the gentleness of his tone as he spoke to her rattled her so that she quite forgot to run.

"Premonition?" he asked softly.

Lessa shook her head. "Memory," she murmured. "More than bad enough. It's c…" _Commonplace._ She cut off abruptly, realizing how much she'd begun to say – far more than she wanted to reveal. Never would she admit how often she was plagued by nightmares. Which, incidentally, was one more reason she resented his presence in her bed.

"Tell me." His tone was gentle, more plea than command.

She regarded him levelly, and a trifle suspiciously. Often he seemed stern, malicious in wit, almost verging on unfeeling. But the emotion she read in his eyes now was genuine, she was sure: concern, compassion, even pity. Pity she had no use for, from him or anyone, but the rest… it was flattering, if nothing else, and briefly she wavered in her determination to keep to herself.

"Tell me," he coaxed again. "Talk to me, Lessa."

And, for all her defiant resolve, for all her shame that a terror so old still had the power to haunt her, the story spilled out.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked. She bristled at what she considered a rather condescending inquiry. However, he quickly elaborated, "I know that was hard for you to say. But doesn't it help at all to have told someone? …Even me?"

Her lips twitched as that final jibe hit the mark. And, reluctantly, she nodded. She supposed it did help some, to get those memories off her chest.

And she didn't know what that signified. So rarely for her had the benefits of sharing of herself outweighed the dangers. But now, little by little, the balance was shifting.

"You can _always_ come to me," he stressed.

She scoffed, her former defensiveness returning. "Oh, the great F'lar deigns to hear my troubles?"

"Lessa," he said firmly, bringing her up short. The patience he had so far exhibited seemed to be wearing thin, for a distinct trace of irritation was beginning to show in his voice."_Look at me, Lessa_. For the love of little dragons, what have I done now? I only want to help, and you just admitted it helped when you talked to me. Why won't you let me in?"

Feeling uncertain and sure it showed, she didn't respond.

He pressed further, whether motivated by encouragement or desperation she couldn't say. "Lessa, please."

"I…" she faltered. "I don't know." She knew she was at the edge of… something, something pivotal. Her first instinct was to retreat, to pull back into herself where security was assured. But if she didn't take the risk, if she didn't step forward, what would she miss? She was no coward! And she found that she wanted very much to see what could be.

"Try," he whispered. And he reached out to her so tentatively and gently that she could not but respond.

So she offered no resistance, and let herself be enfolded in his arms. And found, to her surprise, that it was not so much surrender as acceptance. Instead of feeling trapped or smothered by his embrace, she felt safe and protected –something that, until now, only Ramoth had been able to offer. Maybe this man wasn't the enemy after all.

F'lar regarded the petite figure nestled against him. He was pleased to finally have Lessa where he wanted her, but he was also keenly aware that it was an exceedingly delicate victory. Was there a way to consolidate this progress, to ensure that she wouldn't bolt again? For that would be the real test, he knew.

He mused on the memories she had confided to him – a different sort of victory, but no less real of one. None of what she'd said had been truly surprising, but rather it filled in some of the details of what he had already suspected. And, by the Egg, with what she'd been through, no wonder she'd put up such a thick wall around her heart. No, not a single wall, an entire labyrinth.

This would take some doing, then. Well, he already knew _that_. He would have to be careful not to make her feel entrapped. He feared he had crowded her before; he should have been more conscientious when she'd shied away. But then, she wasn't like any woman he'd known before. Ironic how it was that elusiveness that had initially fascinated him about her, but now the more he got to know her the more he wanted to protect her. At least she seemed to be more comfortable with him now, the proof of which, he observed with an ironic snort, was that she had fallen asleep again in his arms. Yes, that was definitely progress.


	5. Chapter Four: Foregone Conclusion

_Disclaimer_: All your _Dragonflight_ are belong to ...er, Anne McCaffrey, actually.

_A/N_: First off, a warning. This chapter is at very least a hard T, possibly edging into M territory.  
Many thanks, as always, to my beta, moviemom44, for typo-catching, clarifying, and generally making sure I don't make myself look like an idiot. Thanks also to Contessa-Hime for squeeing over my drafts and pestering me for more; without that encouragement it would've been even longer before I finished this chapter.  
I'm graduating on Friday, so I ought to have considerably more time for writing after that.  
Like it? Review and let me know. Don't like it? Review and let me know. ...Please?  
And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for:

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**Chapter Four: Foregone Conclusion  
**

Lessa woke, alone. Immediately she felt as though something was amiss, but couldn't quite figure out what it was. Then it hit her. The realization that 'alone' was no longer how she usually woke was profoundly disturbing.

Automatically she went through the motions of her morning routine, while her mind worked furiously.

How quickly she had adjusted, how much she had become used to him, that she was disconcerted to be waking alone! Not long ago she had been disturbed by the opposite – and frankly she thought that a considerably more natural state of affairs. She wasn't at all comfortable with this new development.

Ramoth let it be known that she wanted to be oiled.

_I'm coming, love_, Lessa responded, glad to have something else to focus on.

Unfortunately there remained the long walk from her Weyr to the Hatching Grounds, all the way across the Weyr Bowl, which was more than long enough for her mind to wander places she didn't much want it going.

The problem, she observed, was her mind and her heart were pulling her in opposite directions, and she didn't have a clue which to follow. The problem was she was starting to _want_, but that scared her and made her blame her own heart for wanting. The problem was she was starting to think resisting for so long had been a mistake, but she wasn't sure if she could come to terms with that.

No! The problem was she was a fool to be tempted so. What was she thinking? Didn't she know that opening up was a recipe for getting hurt? Hadn't she learned her lesson by now? Why should she think that this time would be any different?

_You are distressed,_ Ramoth observed with concern. She lifted her head from her clutch and extended it toward her rider as Lessa approached. The dragon's multifaceted eyes were whirling orange in worry.

Lessa leaned gratefully against the queen's solid bulk, absently caressing the soft hide. She sighed. _Yes._

_What is the problem?_

_The problem,_ Lessa replied unhappily, choosing in her frustration to push the blame elsewhere for what she knew was a personal issue, _is a certain arrogant, invasive, controlling bronzerider._

_Do you wish for me to call him here for you__?_

Lessa gaped. _Whyever would you think that would help?_

_Why not? You are distressed now. I do not want you to be distressed. You are happy when you are with F'lar._

_I _what_?!_

Ramoth matter-of-factly repeated her statement.

_Yes, I know what you said,_ Lessa grumbled. But…. There was some truth in that. She _was_ happy with him … when she wasn't frustrated, irritated, or confused, that was.

A moment later she stopped short as Ramoth's choice of words hit her. _F'lar_? Since when did the dragon refer to him by name?

_Since he's been in your every other thought,_ came the even-toned reply.

_I wasn't actually asking you to answer that,_ Lessa replied petulantly.

_You are changing the subject._

Lessa didn't respond.

_I don't see what is so complicated about this. You wish to mate with him?_

She sputtered. _NO! …Yes. Maybe._

_Well, which is it?_ Ramoth asked practically.

Lessa sighed heavily. Even if she could lie to herself, she couldn't lie to Ramoth. _…Yes._

_So what is the problem?_

The problem is my heart and my brain can't seem to agree, she thought frustratedly. How she envied the black-and-white, uncomplicated thought processes of dragons! _…I don't know. Maybe there isn't one. I just … need to figure out my own mind._

_You do that,_ Ramoth said imperiously. _I'm going to feed._

From the mouth of the Hatching Cavern, Lessa idly traced Ramoth's path with her eyes. Fondly she regarded the curve of golden wings, the graceful flight of the great beast, as the queen descended on the Feeding Grounds.

She smiled vaguely, and considered Ramoth's words, her eyes still tracking the dragon below.

_Was_ she making too big a deal of this? Ramoth made it sound so simple; Lessa knew the situation was more complicated than that, but was she just thinking herself into a corner? What exactly was holding her back?

There was pride, not wanting to admit she'd been wrong for all this time. There was worry, for she knew how dangerous it could be to expose her heart – but that was happening whether she wanted it to or not. Besides, she could take care of herself perfectly well. She was _used_ to being alone, to keeping to herself, but there was no reason she had to be. Now that she stopped to think about it, she couldn't think of any _rational_ reason for her reticence.

She was afraid, she realized with sudden shameful certainty. But what had she to fear?

"Nothing, that's what," she declared stridently to the empty cavern. The exercise felt reassuring somehow, so she continued, "Let others fear. I am Lessa of Ruatha –" and here her ringing words faltered; that wasn't quite right, not anymore. "…Of Benden … I am Lessa of Pern, and I have no use for fear."

The words struck a chord somewhere within her, a note of familiarity. Suddenly she recalled a time when she'd felt very similar sentiments – the last time she'd dared risk opening her heart, in fact. And look where _that_ got her, she mused, smiling to herself as she recalled the thrill of Impression.

Well, that risk had been more than worth it; maybe this one would be too. She shouldn't deprive herself of the possibility for happiness.

Besides, it was beginning to look like there was only one way all this would end, the way events were unfolding. Or rather, she should say, the way her feelings were leaning. She didn't even have the comfort of being able to lay the blame elsewhere. Scorch it all! Curse him for making her _want_, and curse her own traitorous heart.

But it was what it was. Time to accept it and move on, and figure out what to do next. The way she saw it, there were two ways this could go: she could retreat again, fighting the inevitable, waiting for it to come and likely cursing herself the whole way for giving in. Or, she could choose it of her own free will, and take matters into her own hands.

It was her move now.

She sighed. "You were right," she murmured to Ramoth as the dragon returned and resettled herself protectively behind her eggs.

Ramoth regarded her placidly. _Of course I was,_ the great golden queen said smugly, and lowered her head to allow her rider to scratch her eye ridges.

* * *

He'd set his own Wing to flying patrol today, over south Benden and Nerat. It was imperative that _all_ riders stay fresh on their reference points. And there was no reason why he himself would not be included in that requirement, which was why he was out here today, despite the many things that needed organizing and planning back at Benden. Besides, the freedom of the open air was a welcome change. He kept one eye on the wing formation and the landscape below, but for the most part it was just him and Mnementh and the vastness of the sky. There was only so long he could go in the confines of the Weyr without getting a little stir-crazy.

Which made him think of Lessa, and how she'd been confined in exactly that manner. No wonder she'd rebelled; he could hardly begin to imagine it.

_Is there anything that_ doesn't _remind you of Lessa these days?_ Mnementh inquired sarcastically.

_No,_ he replied, just to be contrary. He was not going to play this game.

_You know that thinking like this is only making you more frustrated._

F'lar grumbled something indistinct about 'sharding know-it-all dragons'.

_Which is to say you know I'm right but do not wish to admit it._

Yes, actually, that was exactly it. The sensible part of his mind had been pointing out the same thing for some time now. (Actually, it was amazing how much the sensible side of his mind sounded like Mnementh). It was completely irrational to be all frustrated and preoccupied; truthfully, things _were_ changing. She no longer shied away from his presence and had begun to talk to him more freely. Since the day she'd allowed him to comfort her after her nightmare, it seemed he was finally winning her trust. A few months ago he would have given much for this kind of progress.

His irrational side, however, remained steadfastly impatient, and was not to be placated by such a paltry force as logic. So he was frustrated. And he did not appreciate "I told you so"s.

_I thought you were supposed to be_ supportive.

I am. If I only told you what you wanted to hear, how would that be helpful?

He sighed. _It would make me feel better._

…Great, now his own dragon was laughing at him.

_Now, if you were considering being_ sensible _about this, I would tell you that a little patience might go a long way._

_What's that supposed to mean?_ F'lar got the impression that there was something Mnementh wasn't telling him.

_Figure it out._

_Oh, come on!_

Stubborn silence from the bronze.

"Infuriating beast!"

* * *

By the end of the day, Lessa was feeling considerably less sure of herself. What was she getting herself into? Decisions that were easy – relatively speaking – to make in private became a whole lot more daunting when she was faced with the necessity of actually following through. She hadn't even done anything yet, and already she felt in over her head. She had a sudden intense urge to run, to hide, _something_.

Pride held her back, and she clung to the scraps of her resolve.

This was definitely _not_ the best idea she'd ever had, she reflected ruefully.

Oh, this was ridiculous! She was thinking in sharding _circles_; there wasn't a thought she hadn't gone over three times already.

Quite frankly, she had been avoiding him for most of the evening. She could tell herself all she wanted that she wasn't afraid, but when it came down to it… When she saw F'lar returning to the queen's weyr, she'd lost her nerve and slipped down the passage to the Records Room, where she'd remained since then, futilely trying to convince herself that what she was doing wasn't simply hiding. She was vaguely thankful that Ramoth was asleep, as she had a feeling that otherwise the dragon would be laughing at her right about now.

Still, she could only delay for so long. By now it was past the time she normally retired. She would have to go back to the sleeping room, and _he_ would be there, and…

And if she still couldn't say anything, there was no way she could maintain that it was anything other than cowardice. So she forced herself back up the corridor, trying with limited success to gather her courage as she did so.

She froze in the entryway to the sleeping room, for there he was. Too wrapped up in agonizing over what was to come, she found herself inside the sleeping room without even realizing she'd opened the curtain. Shards! She'd meant to stop and compose herself or take a deep breath at least before having to face him. Now here he was, already undressed amid the sleeping furs, looking so...so..._him_.

"Lessa…?" F'lar half rose, inclining towards her. With conscious effort she took another step in his direction, letting the curtain that partitioned off that chamber fall closed behind her.

"I – " she started out, determined to get the words out while she still could – then faltered, because what were the words for this? She tried again, "I was…" Oh, scorch it all!

He just looked at her patiently, slightly confused.

She was not going to lose her nerve again now. She was _not_… Did she say this wasn't her best idea ever? It wasn't the best planned either. Whatever _was_ she supposed to say now?

In the absence of words, she did the only thing she could think of. She leaned forward and kissed him.

* * *

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting - but that definitely wasn't it. Kissing her back was automatic, but it took his conscious mind a moment to recognize that yes, Lessa was actually kissing him and no, this wasn't just a fantasy. And then he decided that he ought to stop trying to think about it so that he could fully appreciate the reality of having Lessa in his arms.

After several all-too-short moments, she broke away, gasping. Placing a hand on the curve of her spine, he gently nudged her back towards him - encouraging without pressuring her. Now that she had made a first move, he felt justified in making further advances. When she responded readily enough, he gently captured her lips again.

She was tense in his arms - but not, he sensed, because she didn't want to be there. Well, he would do all he could to make her more comfortable; he wanted nothing more than for her to be comfortable with him. He massaged the knots of tension in her muscles, exalting in the soft sigh that escaped her lips, delighting in the way her eyes drifted closed and her body relaxed, signs of pure trust.

As she remained close and pliant, he grew more daring, permitting his hands to wander further. Her breath caught sharply, but she didn't pull away.

"Lessa..." he murmured, still hardly believing that this was real, that she was actually giving herself to him.

Lessa's eyes locked onto his face, peering up at him like she was trying to puzzle him out. Then, as if she had come to some decision, she kissed him again, with more confidence and not a little passion.

He never actually asked. At least, not in so many words. He couldn't, too afraid that if she stopped to think about it she would spook and run from him again. Perhaps it was wrong of him, but he couldn't bear that possibility; he was too desperate after waiting so long for her to come to him. Anyway, consent was written in every line of her body, so soft and yielding under his touch.

F'lar was as gentle as he could possibly be, determined to make it up to her for an all-too-rough first experience, to show her how good it could be. If unskilled, she was as responsive as he could have wished. The little gasps and moans she let out as he moved with her, over her, _in_ her told him that her fear had dissolved. She clung to him like her very life depended on him, on his touch. He felt her whole body tense around him as she cried out, shuddering in the throes of pure passion. He was so close, so close...And then she whispered his name, breathed it, warm and tender against his ear, and he was undone.


End file.
